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... ferent energy. Not one of celebration nor urgency, but anticipation—the kind that rests between breaths, where silence holds meaning.

A soft murmur moved through the lower groves. Birds paused their songs. Roots shifted beneath the soil. Even the trees tilted subtly eastward, as if listening.

Something was coming.

No caravan. No flare. Just a feeling.

Tian Shen was the first to name it.

"The Unfinished," he said.

Ji Luan frowned, setting down his b ...

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